Possessiveness
by kitcatkandy
Summary: Seeing Makoto kiss another boy in school leaves Haru with conflicted feelings and extreme confusion as to those feelings. But when it winds up in them having sex in Makoto's room, Haru sees the hidden aggression and dominance in Makoto's eyes - and he is very, very afraid. (Or, Haru panics because he can't read Makoto.) Warning: M/M.
1. Conflict

This is a purge fic. I wrote the sex scene first, then I wondered: Is this really MakoHaru?  
Yes. Yes it is.  
I always believed Makoto had a hidden side to him, behind that gentle, caring facade, one that wants to dominate and possess Haru almost exclusively. I think he's pretty insecure about his relationship with Haru and wants to keep him all to himself, at the same time deathly afraid of losing Haru if the latter finds out. Well, that's my hc, anyway.  
Besides, Haru never knows what he wants (hint, hint: Makoto), and he's just a clueless little bby. I tried to bring out all that neuroticism and weirdness, I really did, but I don't know if it came out right.

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Strange things had been happening to Nanase Haruka of late.

He still seemed that outwardly calm, stoic, unaffected figure, but deep down there had been a turmoil growing within him. Two days earlier, he had seen his childhood friend Makoto with another boy from their school, a quiet, mousy type with shaggy dark hair and blue eyes just a shade deeper than his own. He had been shocked, because the two had been kissing. Kissing passionately, deeply, _sensually_ , and Haru had shuddered when Makoto had violently pressed the other boy against the wall and taken his mouth with an aggressive dominance Haru never knew he had. He had felt a strange twinge in his chest then, a strange twisting of his heart, and he had wanted to leave, but somehow the sight of Makoto and his full, sensuous lips engaged in such an illicit activity had rooted him to the spot.

Then, for some reason, the kiss had been broken off, Makoto had looked into the other's eyes with a gentle apology, pushed him away with a "Hachida, I'm sorry, I just can't do it like you asked me to," and had walked away. Haru had seen the tiredness, the passionate fire tempered by utter exhaustion, and he had wondered what had irked this man he knew so well.

Since then, Haru had been feeling strange. Strange, and frustrated, because he knew not what he felt, and he knew not why every time he saw Makoto's smile, his fingers clenched and his mouth twisted and he felt like throwing himself into the other man's arms. Other things had changed, too; now, after swim practice, when Makoto heaved himself out of the pool, water dripping down his rippling trapezius muscles and slicking over the brown lines of his hair, Haru found himself having to excuse himself to the locker room to hide the burgeoning flush on his cheeks.

He wondered if Makoto had kissed any other boys since then.

It was a queer feeling the memory inspired in him, a feeling he remembered feeling before, when they had been playing basketball with Kisumi and the two had walked off together to buy a drink, leaving Haru alone on the court. Yet Haru knew he could not entirely identify the emotion as loneliness – there was some other emotion in play as well. Makoto had always been unequivocally and undisputedly _his, Haru's_ only, always by his side, and Haru didn't really like it when Makoto wasn't with him. He was fine with Nagisa and Rei taking away Makoto's time, because he knew them well and trusted them, but anyone else – especially a _stranger_ like that dark-haired boy – it made Haru blanch at the thought.

And now he was in the conflict he had been in for the past two days. He was standing in the locker room, taking his bag out of the locker after a day of hard work in the swim club, and he felt a hand touch his shoulder. It was a familiar touch, one he had felt for many days in his life, but today it felt electric, it felt unfamiliar. Haru looked at the hand on his shoulder, and remembered it clasping the face of the unknown Hachida, pressing the other man down against the wall, and suddenly - a hot flush spread over the surface of his skin, a chill crawled down his spine, and he felt his temperature shoot up into the heavens. Confused, flustered, Haru instinctively yanked his shoulder away from the other man, his lips parting automatically and his hands going to the wall to support himself. Makoto's mouth fell open in a gentle 'o' as he stared disbelievingly at Haru, standing with his back against the lockers as if he were trying to distance himself from him.

The instinctual movement made Haru blush even harder, and he tried to stammer out an apology, but he had never been very good at words, had never been good at saying what he meant to say; besides, Makoto always knew what he wanted to say, and he didn't need to explain, and _why did his body feel as if it were on fire anyway_? Makoto crinkled his eyebrows worriedly, and reached out a hand to him. "Haru-chan, you okay - ?" he asked, fingers already almost touching the skin of Haru's shoulder – and Haru remembered the way those fingers had caressed the planes of Hachida's face, had stroked the other man's soft plump lips, had sifted through the raven locks of his hair – and he felt anger, confusion, _arousal_ shoot through his body.

"I'm fine," he snapped, the words coming out curt and unfriendly. He shrugged off the shocked hurt in Makoto's puppy-dog eyes, and turned to the clothes in his locker instead. Later, he promised himself, he would apologise for his lack of tact, for his lack of an explanation, but now all he wanted to do was to punch a hole in the wall.  
Makoto didn't press him for an explanation, didn't speak to him about what had happened. But for the rest of the day he kept a small but noticeable radius between the two of them – which was fine by Haru, really, because he was starting to wonder if he was having a fever, judging by the way his temperature seemed to rocket when the brunette came even within a few centimetres of him.

At the end of the day, Haru followed Makoto back to the latter's home to study together, as they always did when swim practice ended early. This time, however, they would be alone, due to Makoto's mother having brought the twins to the nearby Disneyland for a two-night-long birthday treat. The two of them laid down their bags on the sofa, and Makoto brought Haru a cup of tea.

"Haru-chan," he said, his head cocked to the side and his characteristic droopy-eyed smile already on his face, "have a drink." Haru reached for the cup, craving the hot, smooth green liquid within, but as his fingers accidentally touched Makoto's he jumped, and dropped the cup. It shattered with an abrupt crash on the hardwood flooring, the green tea already oozing out onto the carpet.

Haru knew he should have apologised, should have gotten up immediately and fetched a cloth to clean the mess off the floor, but somehow he just couldn't, couldn't do anything other than stare blankly at Makoto's hands. Makoto's hands, with their long, thin fingers; fingers which could be _dangerous,_ he thought dazedly, dangerous when clasped around someone's neck. Strong fingers, calloused palms, thin fragile wrists –

"Haru-chan?"

Haru started as he realised that he had unconsciously taken hold of Makoto's hands, had unconsciously started to cradle the other man's palms between his own, smaller ones. Recalling himself, he dropped them immediately like they were a handful of hot coals, an unnatural blush already starting to form on his cheeks, a whispered apology – the first that day – already ghosting past his lips, when he realised that Makoto had reached out to him, and was now gripping his hand, hard.

"What's wrong?" he murmured, his voice soft, and Haru saw that his eyes had suddenly become unreadable. The gentleness was still there, but something in the nature of a dark haze has settled over the green orbs, hiding the true emotions within – and Haru realised, with a suddenness that was terrifying, that he was afraid, afraid of Makoto.

Makoto was still speaking. "You've been out of it all day, Haru-chan," he said, "You jumped away from me earlier in the locker room after practice. Is anything wrong? Do you need help with anything?" There was kindness in the soft lines of his smile, puzzled, naïve confusion in the slashing lines of his brow, but Haru felt the tension in the air around them. There was a strange stillness in the room which made the short hairs on his arms stand on end, an electrifying silence which made him swallow, and try to meet those deep, dark sea-green eyes.

He was suddenly conscious of the sound of Makoto's breaths and the quiet rustling of his clothes against his skin. Then he himself shifted, and felt the burgeoning erection between his thighs. As he realised the state of his arousal, there was a subtle, dangerous shift in the atmosphere around them, and he saw Makoto's pupils dilate.

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This is a terrible place to end, I know, but I need to proofread the next chapter first.

Hit me up on tumblr and AO3 under KitCatKandy!


	2. Temptation

First published on AO3 under KitCatKandy.

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"Tell me what you want, Haru-chan," Makoto said, his voice soft, gentle, firm, barely a whisper over the rushing in Haru's ears, as he reached towards him with an undercut, barely-leashed hunger that was almost well-hidden. A violent flush spread across Haru's face, and he shot to his feet, taking an uncertain, stumbling step backwards. Backwards, towards the door, towards light, towards freedom – away from the tall dark figure he once thought he had known so well. The erratic, quickening 'lub-dub' of his heart beat a strong and fast rhythm in his chest, and it seemed that he could not hear anything else beyond the roaring, the rushing of the blood in his ears. But even the small movement made him whimper, as the shifting of his legs rubbed against the delicate skin of his cock, already half-hard. He covered himself with his hands – the blotchy flush across the bridge of his nose deepened - and he turned to run from the darkened room.

A well-muscled arm curved around his midriff, and Haru hissed at how even the light, barely-there touch from his childhood friend inflamed his crotch even further. He had only felt like this once before - when he had gone beach swimming in the middle of the night and had almost drowned in the throes of a sudden, violent tropical storm - a slow, creeping chill down his spine, down his throat, down his abdomen all the way down to his crotch.

Haru still remembered the water, the violent waves thrashing and churning around him, the water which he both loved and feared. But Makoto had been there then, had been there when he had almost drowned. Had pulled him barely-conscious out of the churning waters, himself hanging on to consciousness by a string. He had been a warm, strong presence, drawing Haru back from death's door and back into the light. He had called out to the smaller man, called out to him in the latter's deathly slumber, and that had been the only time Haru had heard such pain and desperation in his voice. It had been what had called Haru back from the line between life and death – he had felt the tender waves of sleep overwhelming him, cajoling him back into slumber, a state from which he would never again awaken, but Makoto's voice had forced open the shutter that had been closing down on his mind. It had yanked him forcefully back onto the threshold of life, had pulled him from the steady, immovable grip of the waves of death. Yes, Makoto had been a balm to the turmoil in his mind _then_ , but now, as Haru gazed upon the ever-present gentle smile, the cold iron resolve in his green eyes, he felt the same fear and ecstasy he had felt while being tossed around helplessly in the storm-stirred waves of the sea.

His erection was now too painful to bear silently, and he let out an involuntary whimper. The one sound echoed painfully loud in the heavy silence, and he felt Makoto's arm tighten around his waist. "Haru-chan," Makoto murmured, his mouth going to Haru's ear – the latter shuddered at the warmth of his breath, the huskiness of his voice, the moisture on his lips – "Haru-chan, is there anything I can do to help?"

His other hand, the one not currently entwined around Haru's waist, went instead to his hip, tracing light, gentle circles which did nothing to ease Haru's discomfort. The tantalisingly-soft touch was torture to his erection, teasing him as though there was all the time in the world. Haru considered running – he didn't think Makoto would actually chase after him, all the way to his home. Then he remembered the unfamiliar flash of lust he had seen in Makoto's eyes earlier, the way his eyes had darkened with a haze of desire before he had smiled his usual gentle smile. even then the smile had been predatory, calculating, and he had shuddered at its strangeness and wondered who this man was. Haru realised he was now in unfamiliar territory, stuck in a room with a Makoto who was capable of anything.

Anyway, the throb between his thighs reminded him that he was in no state to be running anywhere.

"Where does it hurt?" Makoto said, and his voice was naïve, painfully innocent, as the hand on Haru's hip traced circles closer and ever closer to his crotch. There was a split-second when his fingers brushed casually over the underside of Haru's cock, a touch so light it appeared to be accidental, but even the slight contact made Haru jerk and cry out with pleasure. He felt Makoto smile into his neck, and he shivered – from fear or arousal, he no longer knew which.

There was a painful throb in his asshole which he knew well. An insistent, pervasive feeling which he knew from the few times he had touched himself, curiously at first, then when electricity had been thrumming through his every vein and he had been deliriously, religiously stroking his cock, he had licked his finger, and forced it into the tiny nub between his cheeks. The pain coupled with the intense volt of pleasure that brought him had sent him into a screaming orgasm, at which time he had been thankful – _very_ thankful – that he lived alone.

Now, he remembered the orgasm, remembered how the last thought in his mind before he dozed off was how terribly scandalised Makoto would be if he knew Haru had masturbated with his asshole. Now, he felt the insistent, restless call of his cock, already straining the fabric of his pants, and he cast caution to the winds. He forgot that, behind him, stood a man he had been afraid of only a few seconds ago – a man whose desires he no longer knew, or cared to know. He only remembered that standing behind him was _Makoto_ – Makoto of the gentle smile which sometimes did not reach his eyes, Makoto, who went out of his way always to please others, Makoto – who always put Haru first. Haru remembered this, remembered how the touch of his childhood friend had inflamed him so, and he turned tear-stained blue eyes to the man behind him.

"I - I want you to fuck me," he said, plainly, no frills, no hesitation. There was no surprise in Makoto's eyes, just a quiet appraisal which disappeared at Haru's words. Haru himself was a little unnerved – at other times, when he had said that word, Makoto had blushed and stammered and ineffectually tried to scold him for dropping the f-bomb. So, there _was_ a side of Makoto he didn't know, a dark, sensual side, and the thought sent a thrill of unwilling excitement through him.

Then they were all over each other, Makoto's tongue in his mouth, sucking, licking, stroking. Haru gripped his biceps and bit down hard on the other's lips – Makoto gave a short, sharp sigh of pleasure, and pressed him violently against the wall. There was a loud clatter as Haru's belt fell to the floor, along with his pants, and he was left standing only in his swimwear, which strained at the dark mound of his erection. Makoto's hand went to it, stroking the underside, pressing at the tip, pinching the hard rod until Haru cried out shakily.

"Don't, just – take it out, take it off - " he mewled, no longer caring about his words, which came out in a long stream, garbled and incoherent in their desperation. "Makoto - " he cried, and the other man smiled. There was a glint of sharp teeth, and Haru recoiled suddenly, momentarily recalled from his arousal – he was reminded, again, that he did not know this man, this predator he was shortly going to have sex with. That thought should have thrown him into a panic, the thought that he did not know _Makoto_ – but instead he saw the familiar green eyes and all else disappeared.

There was a soft 'pop' as Makoto peeled off his swimming trunks and released his cock from its bindings. It was already fully-erect, thick and rigid, with a bead of pre-cum oozing from its head, and Haru saw Makoto's eyes glitter before he squatted down and took the entire length in his mouth.

"Ah - !" Haru arched backwards in a silent scream of pleasure. Makoto's mouth was hot and wet, and as he sucked and licked and stroked, the pressure on his cock was almost too much to bear. "Makoto - !" On the edge of cumming, he felt a hand close around the base of his dick like a vise. Panting, he looked down to meet the smiling eyes of his partner.

"If you come now, it's all over," the other man whispered. His voice was dark and husky, and it sent a dangerous thrill down Haru's spine. "Is that what you want – _Haru-chan_?"

Haru waited barely a split second before he shook his head, timidly at first, then resolutely. "I want… to come… when you're in me," he gasped, the words slurred, incoherent, and he winced at the brilliance of Makoto's smile. Haru felt gentle arms sliding under his trembling legs, under the hard tense skin of his back, and he was lifted bodily from his standing position. He closed his eyes, feeling the tension in his crotch ease slightly as he felt the familiar thudding rhythm of Makoto's feet as he walked to his room. There was a quiet creak as Haru was placed gently on the clean striped bedsheets of Makoto's bed, and the taller man leaned over him.

Haru stared into Makoto's green eyes, and Makoto stared into his, and suddenly they were kissing again, the only sound in the room that of his heavy breathing and the 'schlick' of Haru's cock against Makoto's hand. They broke away, gasping for air, panting in the silent electric tension in the room.

"Your clothes," Haru murmured, his fingers tearing feverishly but ineffectually at his partner's orange shirt. Makoto made a mumbled noise of assent, yanking the offending piece of clothing off so quickly that there was a quiet rending sound at the collar. His belt and pants soon followed, and now both of them were clothed only in their birthday suit. Haru could feel the evidence of Makoto's arousal burning a hole into his inner thigh, and he sucked in a breath at the sensation of the other's thick, bunched abdominal muscles brushing tantalisingly against his own erection.

Haru flushed as he met Makoto's eyes, darkened and clouded over with a haze of desire. There was no gentleness in those green eyes now, only pure feral hunger and desire. Fearful anticipation thrummed through Haru's skin, down his spine, to his core - then Makoto buried his face in Haru's shoulder, sucking at the pale, tender flesh, licking and teasing with his canines until the skin turned an indignant pink. "Haru," he growled, low and vibrant and forceful, "Open your legs wider." There was no hint of embarrassment, no hint of hesitation, only a clear, incisive order which made Haru blanch, and immediately part his legs.

Two long fingers were proffered to him, and he obediently took them into his mouth and sucked, hard, coating them liberally with a layer of saliva. He heard Makoto exhale next to him, and the breaths came short and ragged. The two fingers were pulled from his mouth with a soft pop, and trailed down the sharp lines of his abdomen, down the tantalising heat between his legs, and into the cleft between his cheeks. He felt the insistent push of Makoto's forefinger against his asshole, and forced himself to relax. The first finger slipped in easily, and was quickly accompanied by its partner after a few cursory strokes. Haru drew in a sharp breath of pain as the two fingers penetrated him and started moving, slowly at first, then quicker – he had never had more than one finger in him in all his experiments before.

There was a sudden quick push as Makoto drove his long fingers in, deep, deeper, and as he crooked his fingers slightly they brushed against the bundle of nerves within him that made Haru jerk up with a suppressed scream. He heard Makoto chuckle darkly against the flesh of his shoulder, on which he was still lavishing the full attention of his lips and tongue.

"Makoto, t-that's enough, please, please just… please just _fuck_ me already," Haru panted, his words slurring even more, his vision blurring and his fingers trembling. Makoto drew himself up, rearing magnificently over the smaller man - and for a moment Haru froze at the sheer beauty of his childhood friend's body. Chiselled abdominals, strong, thick, bunching cords of muscle of his deltoids, the harsh curving line of his biceps and triceps adorned his dark, tanned flesh. All of which he had seen before in their swimming escapades, but he had never before thought that they were _beautiful_. Well, now the very sight of those beautiful pectorals was going straight down to his cock.

"Remember, Haru, _you_ asked _me_ to do this for you," Makoto purred, his voice teasing, his eyes liquid and half-mast. He heard a faint crackle of foil, a smooth sliding sound of latex over slick, sweaty skin. Haru felt the fingers leave him, and for a moment he felt painfully empty, but then the gentle, forceful pressure of Makoto's erection pressing at his asshole overwhelmed all his other senses. Now he felt only the insistent buzzing in his ears, the thud of his heart going at a hundred miles an hour, and the heavy breathing from the man readying himself between his thighs.

There was a sharp pinch that flared in his abdomen as Makoto pushed, but Haru bit down on his lip and suppressed the whine that he had almost let past his lips. He felt the walls of his passage widen to accommodate the foreign presence, and it was a strange sensation, to feel a hot thick weight pushing inside him. Finally, the pressure became too great, and he let out a sharp, desperate mewl of pain as Makoto pushed in.

Suddenly, then, there were fingers clasping at his hand, tightening their grasp, lips kissing the thin sensitive skin of his neck, fingers playing at the reddened nubs that were his nipples. Haru bucked and sobbed alternately as the skilled fingers on his chest stroked, pinched, teased, sending ripples of illicit pleasure all over his body. He felt a hot, wet mouth seal over his own, and he accepted its comfort gratefully, tangling tongues with Makoto. It was a desperate, cruel fight for dominance, and he felt both their breaths coming short and unsteady.

He had not even realised that Makoto had pushed all the way in, had almost forgotten the insistent pressure down below, but now he almost bit his tongue as he felt the pain-pleasure flood him again. Makoto placed both hands beside his body and braced himself against the bed, his lips still feverishly kissing and suckling at Haru's own. Haru's eyes were closed, squeezed tightly shut, and the lack of sight, the lack of visual awareness only heightened his pleasure. He could feel every twinge in his prostate as Makoto's cock rubbed against that magic bundle of nerves, hear every strained breath Makoto took, feel every rough callus on Makoto's hand as he caressed Haru's cock. The brunette was now thrusting deeper and deeper, growing harder and harder, and Haru shook his head, thrashing blindly as the growing stimulation stoked a hidden fire in his chest. He was at the edge already, felt so amazingly-full, and he reached out desperately towards the peak that was so near, yet so far – so close to the amazing, soaring high he would reach with just a little more stimulation –

Then Makoto leaned down, and bit, hard, on the soft flesh of his shoulder.

Haru came with a resounding shriek, convulsing and twisting frantically in Makoto's arms even as Makoto buried his face in Haru's chest and moaned, a pure primitive expression of satisfaction and satiation. He felt his partner's shaft throbbing thick and fast in him as he came, and then – blackness, and no more.

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	3. Aftermath

Short one this time, exams are coming up :(

* * *

Haru woke to the feeling of soft, moist fabric sliding over his tender skin, gently wiping away the traces of sex left behind on his body. He sat up and blinked sleepily, running his tongue over his teeth, tasting the rusty tang of blood – Makoto's blood, or his own, he knew not. His whole body ached as if he had just done a mile-long sprint in rocky terrain, and he felt the ache in his hips.

Makoto was wiping him down with a wet cloth, cleaning the traces of his own semen off his body. Haru touched his cock instinctively, and winced at the twinge the sensitive flesh gave him.

"Makoto - ?" he said, stretching, reaching out to the figure looming over him and tenderly wiping off his blotchy skin. The other man jumped, and stumbled on the loose linens of the bedsheets. His face was a dark crimson, and he stammered, avoiding eye contact. "H-Haru!" he cried, waving the cloth around uselessly, frantically. "You're up!"

The pointless statement made the tips of Haru's mouth curl up slightly, albeit a touch warily, as he frowned down at the familiar sight of a flustered Makoto. He tried to remember the darkness of the atmosphere as the two of them had rutted on Makoto's bed, but there was barely a wisp of memory, a hint of fear tinging the memories, which were now all but clouded by the single-minded pleasure he had felt in the rough, capable hands of his childhood friend. He sighed, and cocked his head at Makoto, who by this time had somewhat better control of the rampant flush on his cheeks and was attempting to find a pair of boxers for Haru to wear.

"I - " Makoto hesitated, "I didn't _hurt_ you, did I, Haru?" he squeaked, turning timidly to face him and immediately flushing as he met the other man's open, honest blue eyes. The desperate fear of rejection in his eyes and the whimper at the edge of his voice made Haru smile – _this_ was the Makoto he knew, the kindly, easily-discomposed gentle giant who touched everyone like they were a glass doll on the verge of breaking. _This_ was _his_ Makoto – and Haru immediately pushed away the memories of a dark, threatening figure looming over him, a tender smile in its cold green eyes, and hands like Viking plunderers. He shuddered, as he recalled the pleasure and pain those hands had brought to him.

Haru shook his head, remembering that Makoto had asked him a question which needed an answer. "No, it was… alright." It was not a lie – in fact, the experience had been significantly more than just 'alright', but Makoto blushed and accepted his words with a small, relieved smile. "It's late, Haru," he continued, as he found Haru's black swimsuit instead and put it carefully into the latter's hands, "will you be staying over? I can take out the futon if you want. We didn't get much studying done just now, did we?" The words were said innocently, casually, and Haru felt his ears heat up. He turned his head away to hide his blush, and mumbled, "I suppose I _could_ stay. I can cook dinner for you if you have mackerel in the fridge."

Makoto laughed, clear and ringing, and pulled a sweater out of his closet, in which he had been steadily rootling around for the past minute. Haru caught it with a quiet grunt of assent, noting that it was _his_ dolphin-printsweater – when had he gotten so careless?

"I always have mackerel in my fridge, Haru, in case I have the privilege of having you cook dinner for me," Makoto said, his voice gentle and caressing. Haru pulled on the sweater without comment, flinching slightly as the rough cotton slid over his abraded skin – and then he remembered the bite mark on his shoulder.

"Makoto!" he almost yelled, yanking down the right side of the sweater's collar to expose a bright ring of red. "How am I supposed to swim tomorrow?"

Makoto flushed, and looked so adorably apologetic that Haru couldn't do anything more than pinch his lips together, and frown a little frown at him. "I'm sorry I got a little carried away, Haru-chan," he mumbled sheepishly, "but I'm sure it'll heal… soon… hopefully…" He looked so much like a kicked puppy that Haru couldn't stay angry with him, in the end, and simply left in a huff to the kitchen to cook dinner for the two of them.

Things didn't really change between them, surprisingly, except that sometimes when Haru felt the urge again he would glare a little longer at Makoto, press into his side a little, until the clueless giant got the message. However, he would always be the one initiating their little sessions together – Makoto always seemed to be the one giving in to _his_ desires, never expressing any lust of his own (though he seemed to get into it plenty enough when they really got down to it). In fact, the larger man had seemed almost reluctant to touch him again, but Haru had brushed off his hesitance as Makoto's natural shyness.

Although he couldn't help but remember the tight gripping fingers on his waist, the sharp teeth sinking into the flesh of his shoulder, the unrestrained, hungry gasps –

Haru always managed to shut down his brain the moment such thoughts, such tainted memories invaded his conscience, plagued his sleep. But the aggressive Makoto had never appeared again, and Haru was always wondering if it had been his imagination, that controlled ferocity in his childhood friend's eyes. He tried to tamp such thoughts down, but he couldn't help it – he wondered about that banked fire when Makoto gently caressed his stomach, wondered about that hidden passion when Makoto took at least five minutes to prepare him for entry, wondered where that raging dominance had disappeared to when Makoto almost _gingerly_ thrust into him against the soft linen bed. He wasn't sure what he had seen that day, if it had just been a figment of his lustful imagination.

And he wasn't sure if that raging uncertainty in his stomach meant that he wanted _that_ Makoto back.

The mark on his neck had gone quickly, taking only a few days and incessant panicky moments where he had to explain it away as a dog bite (although Nagisa had looked wickedly delighted when he had seen the red teeth marks on Haru's shoulder, _damn him_ ), but the feelings had taken longer to fade. Uncertainty, fear, and a heightened awareness of and sensitivity to Makoto whenever the taller man stood next to him – they were the screw turning on his heart, clamping it down, squeezing it until he couldn't stand near Makoto without wanting to run. Or, alternately, jump him (a decidedly more tempting but dangerous path to take).

Meanwhile, he was nowhere near comfortable with this uneasy state of affairs between them, a blurring of the lines in their relationship with no clear direction, but there was nothing he could do about it. Several times, he thought of voicing his concerns to Makoto – what, exactly, were _they_? Fuck buddies, sex friends, lovers, something _more_? – but he always shied away from the issue. Just as he had always shied away from confrontation, from expressing his insecurities and fears, from reaching out to the people who mattered the most.

Things changed, however, the day Rin touched him.

It had been a casual touch, a brushing of their hands together as they passed each other in the locker room of the Iwatobi pool, but he had felt Rin's fingers curl around his for a split second before the other man had jumped away, blushing crimson and spluttering. Something had changed in the air then, again, the electricity from the first time permeating the locker room, and it had taken Haru a bare moment to pinpoint the source of the tension.

Makoto.

As soon as Haru turned to meet the eyes of the tall brunette towelling himself off in the corner of the room, he had seen a flash of anger, no more, before those green eyes had crinkled up in their usual questioning smile. But the tension was still there, in every hard line of his well-muscled body, and Haru knew Rin felt it too. Haru had seen the uncensored shock in Rin's eyes, had seen the unspoken words on his lips – but then the auburn-haired swimmer had looked at Makoto, looked at Haru, and clamped his mouth shut. He had then hurriedly picked up his bag and excused himself, and Haru hadn't been sure if the quick glance Rin had directed in Makoto's direction had been his own imagination, or not.

The train ride, and the subsequent walk home was full of silence. Not the comfortable, companionable silence Haru was used to, the calming silence which put him at ease, but a pregnant pause heavy with unspoken words and repressed emotions. Haru snuck a glance at the hard lines of Makoto's face – _and since when had he started thinking of Makoto's face as hard_ – and he realised that he didn't know what the other man was thinking. Not being able to see his way clearly into Makoto's mind _scared_ him, scared him a hell of a lot, and Haru felt his fingers trembling. He shoved them into his pockets and looked stubbornly down at the ground, refusing to look at Makoto again. Well, if his childhood friend was going to be like that, there was no way _he_ was going to be the one to break the silence.

They walked for what seemed like an hour from the station to the white stone staircase, around which their homes were situated. When they reached the second level, Haru mumbled a hurried goodbye and turned to stumble up the steps to his home, but a hand on his arm arrested his movement.

He looked up to meet Makoto's eyes – liquid, green eyes with passion, a banked, hungry fire unfurling within – and he felt his stomach coil with repulsion, and fear, and a single-minded, overwhelming _desire_.

" _Stay_ ," rumbled Makoto, in a voice low and foreign to his ears. Haru felt a shudder run through his body, and his brain told him to run – the part of his brain which had existed in men from times primeval, from when primitive man had had to run from sabre-toothed tigers and mammoths and the like – told him to run from this predator standing before him with darkened eyes and a gentle smile. But something in that smile made him hesitate, made him freeze, and now, again, he felt like he was swimming in the midst of a storm. The high, roaring waves buffeted him from all sides, and he felt slow, sluggish, unable to move.

He was nodding before he realised it, and the hand on his arm was guiding him in. Makoto's grip was gentle, careful not to leave finger-marks on Haru's pale skin, but at the same time it was as a vise, tight and immovable, impossible to escape from.

Briefly, as Haru passed the threshold of the doorstep and the door closed behind him, blocking out the light of the evening sun, he wondered just what he had gotten himself into.

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Things can only get darker from now on. Possessive Makoto is scary :( Hit me up on tumblr and AO3 under KitCatKandy. Reviews are appreciated!


	4. Possession

Late update, I'm not dead, just swamped by work T.T will still try to update weekly but no promises. IT'S TIME FOR SOME SMUT (?), YAY

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The moment Haru stepped into the living room, he felt Makoto's hands move in and pin him to the wall. His mouth closed over Haru's, their lips pressing together in an open-mouthed fight for dominance, and Haru could already feel himself losing. This Makoto was different, different from the Makoto of the past few weeks, who had been all shy, bumbling uncertainty and careful, gentle touches. This was the Makoto of their first time together – of Haru's very first time with another – the hungry, aggressive beast whose hunger was barely-leashed.

 _This_ Makoto frightened him, he had to admit; frightened him with the dangerous belligerence and assertion he hid under that calm exterior. But at the same time he sensed the Makoto he thought he knew so well, felt _that_ Makoto in the way the other man was careful not to dig his nails in too deep or bang him too hard against the wall. Makoto still treated him like a glass doll, but now it was less about his innate fragility, and more about being careful – _possessive,_ something wicked within Haru whispered - with something one treasured.

And yet at the same time Makoto's aggression turned him on, pressed buttons he never knew he had. He had always sensed something repressed, something held back, beneath Makoto's gentle façade, but he just hadn't expected something of this magnitude, something so… _primitive_. He had no idea what had triggered Makoto's self-assurance, what had made him make the first move, but he had no time to think further, for Makoto was now pressing against him with something very real and very hard.

"Tell me what you want me to do, Haru-chan, I won't know if you don't tell me," he drawled, and there was a smile on his face, a smile almost a cross between a leer and a grimace. Haru felt the teasing pressure of fingers at his nipples, pressing and pinching until the sensitive, inflamed flesh peaked and turned an outraged shade of red. He glared at Makoto, wondering how he could even ask, how he could even _think_ that he could get away with teasing him –

But something in Makoto's face made him stop, the retort he had been about to utter frozen at the edge of his lips. The other man looked painfully vulnerable, and his tongue darted out to lick his lips even as he leered down at Haru.

Haru turned his face away. Somehow, that expression had _gotten_ to him, made him feel guilty and confused, and he didn't like that. He didn't like feeling like someone who kicks puppies.

"I want you to touch me," he mumbled into his sleeve, scowling rebelliously at Makoto through the sweaty bangs falling over his forehead. "Isn't that obvious?"

There was a strange relief, a strange relaxation in the smile which greeted his words, but the expression was still painful to watch, so Haru closed his eyes, willing Makoto to _move_ , to do _something_ , to do _anything_. He stifled a gasp as the man acquiesced and grunted impatiently, stripping off their pants with graceful, fluid movements.

Haru struggled with the band of his jammers, trying unsuccessfully to pull it down over the swell of his erection. but already he felt Makoto's rough fingers at the head of his cock, teasing the slit gently through the wet fabric. He stifled a groan against Makoto's broad shoulders, missing the dark flash that streaked across his green eyes.

Apparently tired of teasing, Makoto's other hand slipped the swimsuit off easily, releasing Haru's painfully-engorged cock. He continued stroking, rhythmically, up and down the other's thick length, until Haru choked and shook his head blindly, gripping tighter onto Makoto's arms. "C-Coming," he panted. "Stop…"

This time, Makoto didn't heed the warning, and simply leaned down, engulfing Haru's entire cock in his mouth again. This time, Haru could feel the head of his cock pushing against Makoto's throat, almost down the passage, and he moaned at the constricted, squeezing sensation. Then Makoto looked deep into his eyes, and swallowed, very deliberately and slowly.

Haru ejaculated with several low, sobbing gasps, pumping his seed into Makoto's throat. His left hand dug tight into the roots of his partner's hair, while his other unconsciously sought out Makoto's hand and twined their fingers together. He stayed, bent double, until he had ridden out the full waves of the orgasm, and was almost exhausted from the unrestrained exhilaration.

Makoto gave him no time to recover, however, and immediately two fingers were at his slick, leaking entrance, plunging in with no warning and scissoring almost at the moment of entry. Haru inhaled immediately at the burn in his asshole, as Makoto bent his fingers and stroked that one spot which had him seeing stars. This went on for a few more minutes as Haru felt his cock slowly recover from the first orgasm, and Makoto's fingers kept relentlessly driving him towards that peak from which he had just descended.

Now he was at the edge, at the edge of the cliff, almost falling off but miraculously hanging on by the skin of his teeth. Two fingers weren't enough, not by a long way, and Haru tried to communicate this to Makoto by pulling pathetically at the tight skin on his arm and whimpering ineffectually. Somehow, Makoto got the message, and Haru had barely a few seconds to bemoan the loss of the pressure inside of him before he felt himself being lifted up bodily and pressed against the hard, abrasive wall. Even in the midst of intense, passionate sex, Makoto still took care to cushion him gently against the rough concrete, trying to prevent any wall burn – although, judging by the dark hunger in those green orbs, Haru didn't think he would come out of the encounter entirely unscathed.

Makoto drove upwards and inwards with one long, smooth thrust, and Haru wailed. Wailed like a cat, wailed as he felt the thick length fill him up entirely and went deeper than it had ever gone before. Haru felt the pressure in his throat and felt Makoto muffle a groan against his neck which rumbled through his entire body and made him shiver. He thrust hard, powerfully, pushing Haru repeatedly against the wall, and every time their lips made contact he pressed forward feverishly, like he was a man starved for months and Haru was a banquet on a long table. The sounds of their pleasure echoed loud and desperate in the confines of the empty room, and Haru dug his fingernails into Makoto's broad back, feeling the sweat slide down over his taut, tan skin.

"Makoto," he mewled, "Makoto, please, _please_ just -" He didn't know what he was asking for, nor why he felt so panicked, as he felt the waves of pleasure surging over him over and over again, bringing him closer to the precipice.

Then Makoto hissed, and drove against him in one last spurt, and Haru felt semen flood his insides. The pulsing throb inside him finally pushed him over the edge, and he came with a long, drawn-out moan, releasing his seed all over the pale yellow of his shirt.

They stood together for a few moments, panting and recovering from the last round of intense sex, Makoto still supporting Haru in his arms. Their foreheads rested against each other, and there was nothing to say, nothing to break the uneasy silence before them. For while Haru felt fully satisfied sexually-speaking, he also felt confused and very, very uneasy.

When he could feel his arms again, he released his iron hold on Makoto's biceps and looked up into the other man's eyes, a motion which he had mirrored without even thinking about it. Their eyes met, and Haru was relieved – and, strangely, disappointed – to see that Makoto's eyes had gained back their usual bright, kind shine. He wondered where the dark haze had gone, if it even _was_ truly gone, or if it had simply receded back into wherever it had been hiding.

"Haru-chan, you okay?" Makoto whispered, the tips of his mouth curving up in a smile which was almost heart-breaking in its sweetness. "I'm sorry I was a little rough."

"You were angrier today," Haru said before he could stop himself, but now, horror-stricken at his own candour, he looked up at Makoto through his lashes like a startled doe, waiting for his reaction.

Makoto's eyes widened, a fraction, before a guilty flush spread on his cheeks and he turned his face away. But he didn't shy away or stammer as he would have done usually, and Haru sensed his own pain and confusion mirrored, again, beneath the calm façade of the other man. His eyes were quiet, thinking, and filled with perplexity, as he laid his head gently to rest on Haru's shoulder.

"Was I?" he said, and his voice was tired. "I'm sorry if I hurt you, Haru. I don't know what I was angry at."

Haru's mind flashed back to that brief touch in the locker room with Rin's hand, flashed back to the look in Makoto's eyes when he had seen the touch, but he didn't say anything. He thought he was starting to understand – or perhaps not. Bewilderment and a debilitating weariness thrummed through his body, and he remembered that Makoto was still holding him up.

"Put me down, Makoto, you're tired," Haru murmured, and the other man obediently set him down on his feet. Makoto fetched a wet towel and started bathing his body almost reverently, carefully wiping his abdomen and thighs, although the tips of his ears did turn pink as he navigated the danger zone around Haru's crotch.

Slowly, mindful of Haru's sensitive cock, he pulled up the latter's jammers and helped him buckle his pants. Haru noted the ache in his thighs and his hips, but Makoto's supportive hand helping him walk did dull the pain somewhat.

"Do you want a bath, Haru-chan? I'll run one for you now," Makoto suggested, giving himself a few cursory wipes with the cloth and pulling on his clothes efficiently. The light flush on his cheeks returned as the reality of the illicit affairs they had just engaged in sunk in on him, and signalled a return to the shy, easily-scandalised Makoto, and Haru didn't miss how he tried to avoid eye contact.

Pushing down the creeping disquiet in his chest, Haru tugged on Makoto's sleeve, looking down at his feet. The movement seemed painfully inadequate to express the conflict of emotions within him, but it worked - Makoto stopped walking, glancing down at Haru in barely-disguised surprise. "Haru - " he started, unsure, raising his eyebrows, but Haru cut him to it.

"Get in with me," he mumbled under his breath, the words barely audible, and he felt a light flush further colour his cheeks at his own audacity. They stood there for a bare second which felt like an eternity, and Haru could barely breathe, didn't understand why he had dared to ask Makoto for a moment more of intimacy, didn't understand why he felt like he would shatter if Makoto rejected him, _now_ –

"Yeah, sure, Haru!" He blinked at the sound of Makoto's voice, now definitely chirpier, and looked up to meet the full blinding force of his friend's smile. He was relieved to see that the weariness had disappeared from Makoto's eyes, as well as that other emotion lurking behind in the background, and seeing the unbridled tenderness in every line of his face made Haru relax. Somewhat.

He had a feeling that, no matter how bright Makoto's smile or how cheery his voice was, he would never forget the darkness behind those green eyes as enigmatic and bottomless as the deepest ocean.

Things were changing too fast for Haru to keep up, and he often felt like he was falling, further and further, into an abyss. Slowly, the gentle Makoto he had bedded the first few days had disappeared, replaced instead with the primitive, aggressive Makoto who took him in the locker room, in the bathroom, even in the classroom one day after everyone had already left and Haru had left a textbook under his table. Now, most of the time, he was the one initiating contact, taking Haru's hand and pinning him down with a wordless gaze before leading them both to the nearest deserted corner.

Haru didn't understand it, didn't understand anything at all, but he thought perhaps he was starting to see a pattern. Whenever Rin so much as touched him, even if it was to sling a casual arm around him or touch his nose playfully during joint trainings, he could practically feel a dark curtain descend over training. Often, the source of this tense aura originated from Makoto, but he had managed to tone it down somewhat, so that only Haru felt it whenever it came.

But he always knew he was fucked, in more ways than one, when he felt it descend on him.

Sex with Makoto was often painful now, but also thrumming with a red-hot excitement and exhilaration which had been noticeably absent during the times Makoto had been gentle with him. Haru admitted that he liked the Makoto who showed his domineering, controlling side, because he never hesitated, never blushed, never asked, only took what he wanted and gave it back in double.

But after every session with Makoto, Haru would feel drained. Physically satiated, but mentally and emotionally drained. Seeing Makoto enter his other state was worrying; he couldn't tell what the other was thinking, couldn't see what the other wanted, could only see the possessive, obsessive fire in his green eyes and feel the tight grip the other was maintaining on his arms, as if he feared to let him go. It was a twisted relationship, theirs, and Haru did not enjoy it. Did not enjoy feeling insecurity and confusion bloom up in his chest every time he orgasmed and flopped down on the bed to lie next to Makoto.

What was worse was that he _still_ didn't know what they were to each other. He supposed 'fuck buddies' would be the best way to describe it, but somehow the desperate hunger and want invested in their fucking didn't imply the emotional detachment of such a relationship. Were they lovers? Haru paused for a moment as he considered it. What would being Makoto's lover be like…?

The thought sent a chill down his spine, a feeling that was not wholly unpleasant, and brought a violent flush to his cheeks. No, it was better not to go there, not to think about such things, not when they _couldn't_ be true.

But all the same, Haru found himself thinking about it.

One day, Rin had thoughtlessly groped his ass after training, remarking how tight it had become. He had teased him about "advanced gluteal training" and "butt muscles", and Haru had been so almost-bothered that he had almost missed the hiss that had come from the lips of the man next to him. It was then that he had remembered who had been standing protectively next to him.

 _Fuck_. The word had flashed, unbidden, into his mind, and he had chanced a glance through his lashes up at Makoto, whose eyes were like stone – but then he had seen the taller man make a visible effort to soften his eyes as they stared at each other.

Rin had frozen in the middle of his sentence, open-mouthed, as he met Makoto's eyes. Pure, utter disbelief had flashed across his face as he stared into the man's green orbs, and he had shaken his head as if to get rid of the thoughts within.

"What am I thinking," he had muttered, almost to himself, "Makoto couldn't possibly look like that."

"Like what, Rin?" Makoto had said, his voice teasing, back to normal. His eyes had been crinkled up in a genuine smile, and Haru had reminded himself that Makoto _liked_ Rin, that they had been good friends in elementary school, that they had no particular animosity between them –

 _So what had been that shadow in his eyes –_

Haru hadn't wanted to think about it, and he focused instead on the theatrical way Rin had thrown his hands into the air. "Like, I dunno, a hunter, like a predator, but that's fucking _ridiculous_. I mean," he had darted a conspiratorial smile in Haru's direction, "can you _seriously_ imagine our dear sweet angel Makoto with a look like that in his eyes?"

Haru had laughed reluctantly, and Makoto had joined in with his own particular brand of embarrassed laughter. The sweet moment among their trio had been lost as they were swept along in Nagisa's overenthusiastic race for the pool with Rei, dragging a highly-annoyed Sousuke along in his wake.

Later, Haru remembered everything that had happened at the poolside, and he bit down harder on Makoto's fingers than he meant to.

"Ow!" Makoto yelped, yanking his fingers out of Haru's mouth and pouting. "Haru, that _hurt_!"

Haru didn't even have the decency to look sorry. He glared at Makoto, and the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, blushing at how ridiculous he sounded saying such things while both of them were naked and sitting with erections on the cold hard floor of Haru's room.

"Makoto," he began, "what are we to each other?" He winced at the suddenness of his words, but since the deed had been done, he now looked up into Makoto's surprised eyes - and flinched at the sudden hunger which flashed through them. Hunger, like that of a panther before it pounced on a defenceless deer, like that of an orca before it struck down a stray passing dolphin.

There was a moment's pause, and they stared into each other's eyes. Then Makoto smiled, with a saccharine smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, and said –

"We're best friends, aren't we, _Haru-chan_?"

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Hit me up on tumblr at kitcatkandy, I'd love to get to know y'all :)


	5. Darkness

Enjoy the sin (apologies in advance: this chapter might offend some people who don't enjoy jealous!Makoto, idk if it's OOC though whoops)

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Haru couldn't take it any longer.

Slowly but surely, he had been feeling the insidious tendrils of Makoto's darkness stretching over him, consuming him, until the time they spent together was poisonous. He admitted freely that Makoto's dominance and aggression weren't wholly unwelcome. After all, that side of him provided a refreshing variance to their… _sessions_ in bed -

\- because he still didn't know what to call their nightly activities; booty calls? Casual hook-ups? The word _lovemaking_ didn't fit, not _quite_ yet, seeing as how the only person in actual fucking _love_ was –

\- provided a sense of suspense, of not knowing what would come next. Of not knowing if whether when they next touched each other, it would be a gentle, slow act with plenty of foreplay and stroking and preparation, or if it would be a hard, fast, desperate fight for dominance and subjugation. With the former, Haru always felt like he was the one in charge, like Makoto's lips and Makoto's hands would just stop the moment he said "No". But with the latter… in that primitive tussle of wills, Makoto always came out on top (literally), with his tongue doing things which should have been illegal, with his fingers touching places which should never had been touched, and Haru would just submit with a faint whimper of pleasure.

This spiced up things between them, making their fucks unpredictable, incalculable. Haru thought he was starting to see a pattern between the different sides of Makoto which would show at different times – when he asked for it, Makoto would give it to him slow and easy, gentle and attentive, but when Makoto pulled on his arm and that particular curious gleam came into his eyes, that was when he knew he was going to be sore for days afterwards.

But he was having trouble reconciling _this_ Makoto with the tender, almost puppy-like figure from his childhood. He had trouble seeing how _Makoto_ , the Makoto who had given up the dolphin keychain he had wanted just so he could have it, the Makoto who had quit the Iwatobi Swimming Club for him, the Makoto who pulled him out of his bath every morning so he wouldn't drown in lukewarm bath water – he just couldn't see how _that_ Makoto, the person he had known all his life, could do all these things, and with the same, gentle tone of voice, ask him to "beg for it".

Because that was what he did, and that was one of the reasons why Haru couldn't exactly give a name to what they were doing, why his orgasms always came with a creeping unease on the side, why he lay awake watching Makoto sleep after they both came. Sometimes it wouldn't be so bad. Sometimes, all Makoto did was tease him a little, stroke him through his pants or lick him through his jammers, asking him "Where do you want me to touch?" or "Haru-chan, what do you want me to do?"

But other times…

"Haru, you feeling good?" Makoto asked, as he drove into Haru from behind with a particularly-violent thrust. Haru hissed through his teeth, throwing his head backwards and mewling slightly as Makoto stroked his erect cock in tandem with the movement.

He could hear Makoto's laboured breathing, the heavy thud of his heart against his back, but it didn't seem to make a difference. Makoto's voice was as calm, as light as ever, as he spoke against Haru's ear, ghosting over the tender spot with a warm breath that made him shudder.

"I don't think that girl today would have made you feel as good, hmm?" The words were coupled with a low rumble that could only have been laughter, a low growl that reverberated through Haru's body. He froze, remembering the girl in question – a light-haired, light-skinned girl who had, inexplicably, confessed to _him_ , of all people, earlier that day at lunch break. He had rejected her, of course, (and it had been quick – Makoto had been waiting) and explained quite expressionlessly that he hadn't been looking for a relationship, but he hadn't quite known how to deal with the tears.

"What does… What does she have to do – with – anything," Haru panted, his words coming in stilted, slurred bursts, as Makoto gripped him by his waist and drove relentlessly into him. He could feel his orgasm coming, could feel the giddiness in his head that heralded a much-welcomed release, and he did _not_ want to think of a girl while he came, he wanted to think only of Makoto's strong hands at his hips, to feel only Makoto throbbing heatedly inside him, to _touch_ only Makoto's taut skin while his body exploded into tendrils of flame –

"Well, she looked like she wanted to jump into bed with you," Makoto continued, as if they were having a casual conversation in front of the school dining hall, not fucking on top of a table. "Did you want to do it with her? She didn't look like she would have been good enough for you, though, not with your body, not with your tastes -" Here he thrust in low and smooth, rubbing against Haru's prostate and making him shake his head blindly about with the overwhelming pleasure. "She wouldn't know where to touch you. Where to touch you so you'd see stars. Where to kiss you so you'd come until - you - were - dry." He punctuated each last word with a fast, deep thrust which jerked Haru against the hard teak wood.

Haru gasped, feeling the grain of the wood rub against his tender stomach, and reached out with his right hand to jerk his cock, feeling his climax near. His fingers barely brushed against the inflamed skin before it was grasped and yanked harshly behind his back.

"No touching," Makoto breathed into his neck, and there was something ugly, distorted in his voice which made Haru's skin tingle with a feeling which was not wholly unpleasant. The low animal roughness in his voice, usually so soft and meek, made Haru emit a muffled groan and rut vigorously against the table leg in a desperate bid for release. In answer to that, Makoto lifted him bodily off the ground and supported him using only his arms. Haru bit his lips to suppress the scream of pleasure that came from the sudden depth of the next thrust, when he was pulled back down onto Makoto's shaft.

They fucked more roughly after that, Makoto doing most of the moving, Haru clinging tightly onto his arms and arching his back with the intense pleasure streaking through him. Meanwhile, Makoto whispered words into his ear, the words slurring, mixing with the harsh pants of his breath until they were almost unintelligible. But Haru could still hear some of the muffled syllables, incoherent and disjointed as they were. Makoto was still talking about the girl, talking about how she'd always been watching him in class (he'd never noticed), how she probably wished she could be here, now, on this table, being fucked by Haru – oh, wait, _he_ was the one being fucked, and wouldn't she be scandalised if she knew?

Haru bucked and whined as he felt his orgasm approaching, but now it was tinged with an approaching sense of fury. How _dare_ Makoto think about another person other than him, how _dare_ he bring up some girl Haru didn't even know properly, all while they were having sex _together_? As Makoto's breathing intensified and the words spilled faster, more deliriously, Haru twisted his neck and forced his lips over Makoto's, effectively stemming his flow of speech. In the split second before he closed his eyes, he saw Makoto's widen, and his pupils dilate, but then once again their tongues were clashing for dominance, for entry, and Haru cried out into Makoto's mouth as they both came.

A few seconds passed as they both stayed still, puffing and panting for breath, then Makoto slowly and carefully lowered him back onto the ground, staggering a little from the strain on his knees. _Makoto is strong_ , Haru thought dazedly, he himself feeling a touch light-headed – then he remembered the things Makoto had been feverishly whispering into his ears, the cruel taunting words which had so inflamed him, and his brow darkened.

Makoto sensed the change in him quickly, whipping his head around to stare questioningly at him. Haru pre-empted his inevitable question with a glare of utter disdain, before stomping off to the bathroom and locking the door.

He could hear Makoto banging on the door with increased anxiety. "Haru!" he called, his voice a little shaky, but still steady. "Haru! What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

Typical Makoto, Haru thought bitterly, filling the bath and watching the water level creep steadily up the clean white enamel of the tub. It was strangely calming, in a way, watching the water flow rhythmically from the tap and hearing the endless splash of the stream as it thundered into the bathtub. He lowered himself into it, sighing in pure ecstasy as he felt the warm water caress his skin and wash over the abrasions on his neck.

He could still hear Makoto's increasingly-frantic knocks on the door. With a sigh that shook his slight frame, he got out of the bath and went to the door, opening it with a smooth, fluid movement.

"It wasn't locked," he lied, unemotionally, remembering how Makoto hadn't even once tried the lock. He looked at Makoto's body, refusing to meet the look of concern in his green eyes, then suddenly realised that - _he wasn't dressed_. Haru saw the slick trail of cum twisting its way down Makoto's inner thigh, the slight sheen of sweat on his muscular body, and the dark red marks on his palms where he had dug his fingernails deep in his anxiety to get the door open.

Makoto immediately turned into a blushing mess at Haru's searching glance over his body, his hands going to cover his crotch. "I – I wouldn't like to go in without Haru's consent," he said, stammering, switching erratically between formal and informal speech. "I – I mean, if Haru didn't want to let me in I wouldn't have – I wouldn't have - "

Haru cut off the flow of speech with a shake of his head and a gesture of his hand for the other man to enter. He could already feel his face softening at the characteristic awkwardness of his childhood friend, the way he always bumbled and hesitated when it came to his and Haru's conflicting interests. Suddenly this reminded Haru _again_ of the fact that Makoto would never – would _never_ – put his own desires before Haru's, would _never_ do something that Haru didn't want, would _never_ make decisions without consulting Haru first.

And didn't that mean that all his actions from before, the domination and the aggression and the hard fucking against the wall, were all things that Haru, he himself, wanted?

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I'M SORRY I SWEAR on a side note, hit me up on tumblr at kitcatkandy, I want to get to know y'all :D


	6. Crescendo

**Short update this time, it's gonna be the second last chapter :( enjoy some fluff, I couldn't resist :3**

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Haru heard voices, female voices, from outside the classroom – high-pitched voices with a hint of malice. He tried to block them out, to force the rubber of his earbuds deeper into his ears so the crashing cymbals would block out their words, but it was to no avail. He was just about to get up and leave, to wait for Makoto in the library instead, but then he heard one word, and froze.

"Makoto - "

 _What?_ Why would they be talking about Makoto here, at this time, at this place, about _Makoto_ of all people? A wave of jealousy rolled over him; unlike Haru, Makoto had always been comfortable, at home with others, chatting and laughing and even _flirting_ occasionally with their other classmates. He had had his fair share of confessions from girls (even one scrawny young boy in their second year, Haru recalled, and had to bite his lip to force down the bile in his throat), and he had always turned them down. But it still scared Haru, to know that there _was_ a way out, that Makoto could one day pick _one_ of those girls and leave his side forever –

"Makoto? Oh, he's _pathetic_ ," the voice said, and Haru blanched. He could hear the latent scorn in the girl's voice. Her companion's words were soft, almost inaudible, but the girl with the screechy voice responded with a violent giggle.

"Oh, you _would_ , wouldn't you, Madoka? I know he's got a great body, and all, but, I mean, _look at him_. He's got all the personality of a fucking _doormat_. I bet I could walk all over him in my high heels, and he wouldn't do anything other than roll over and ask for his belly to be scratched." Two identical shrieks of laughter followed the statement, as the girl in question pantomimed the hypothetical situation. "Oh, scratch me, scratch me, Ayane-san!" she mimicked, making her voice even more high-pitched, if that was possible. "God, I just _hate_ guys like him with no backbone. Step on me more with your high-heels, _Ayane-san!_ "

Haru saw red. An actual dark haze descended on his eyes and blinded him, and he didn't even realise what he was doing until he stood outside the classroom, the empty cup in his hand and a _very_ drenched, _very_ angry girl in front of him.

" _What the actual fuck_ , _Nanase!_ " she howled, gesturing at her sodden clothes, her soaked tie, her bedraggled skirt. "What the _fuck_ did you just do?" She ran her fingers through her dyed yellow hair, staring disbelievingly at the droplets of water trickling off her fingertips. "Did you hear what I said? Was that it? Oh man, you got angry just 'cause I dissed your pussy of a boyfriend?" The girl shook her head, her teeth bared in an animalistic scowl which would have been slightly intimidating if she hadn't been wetter than a fish. She stepped closer to Haru, putting her body right in his personal space, getting up close and poking him in the chest with one long, sharp fingernail. "How's it like, huh, fucking his pussy every night the way you'd give it to a girl? Two virgins, together every night, fucking like bunnies on heat?"

Haru didn't glorify that question with a response, choosing instead to open the cap of his water bottle and enjoy the sight of the girl spluttering, choking, screaming, in front of him.

" _Haru_!" Makoto said, and Haru whirled around, his pupils dilating as he realised that, in their intense argument, neither he nor the girl had noticed Makoto standing behind them. He blushed as he held the empty bottle in his hand, feeling somehow ashamed and exhilarated all at the same time.

Ayane gave him a mighty push on the chest, sending him stumbling backwards into Makoto's broad one. " _How dare you_!" she squawked, beating her fists against his chest, pummelling him with such force that he could practically feel the bruises spontaneously forming on his skin. "I'll tell the principal, I will, I'll get you expelled for fucking _drenching_ me! Do you have _any_ idea how much this jacket cost? How much I had to fork over for these fucking stockings? So, Makoto, you can just tell your fucking _whore_ to fuck off and - "

She was cut off by Makoto, who had gently pulled Haru away behind him and was now standing face to face with her. He had put on his sweetest, saccharine smile, and had been patiently listening to Ayane's hysterical rant, but now he put a hand on her shoulder and leaned closer, effectively cutting off her stream of speech. His smile became, if it was even possible, ten times sweeter. From behind him, Haru saw her face go deadly white.

"Ayane-san," he whispered, and Haru shivered at the base note in his voice, "I can't have you saying things like that about my friends. I'm sorry he poured water on you, I can't say how sorry I am, I'll make sure he doesn't do it again, but that doesn't mean you get to say things like that about Haru." He released his grip on her shoulder, but kept his hand there in a friendly fashion. "I'll pay for your stockings, okay? But the jacket…" Makoto looked down at the offending article with a small, gentle cock of the head – "It's not school regulation, is it? I don't think neon pink is among the school colours, Ayane-san. I'm afraid I'll have to report this to the prefect, you know."

Haru watched with interest as Ayane's face switched through a wide array of colours – white, then red, then an enjoyable purplish-blue. She stammered and stuttered in response, trying to reply, but ended up giving off the impression of a balloon overfilled with air.

"You'll let me know how much the stockings cost, won't you?" Makoto continued, calmly, his face a mask of friendliness and placidity. "Of course, the detention room isn't a really good place to show off high quality stockings, but I suppose it'll have to do, won't it? See you, Ayane-san." He turned to go, but she caught his sleeve with trembling fingers and tried to speak.

"F-Forget the jacket," she mumbled, her tongue poking out to lick nervously at her tinted lip balm, "and I'll – I'll forget the stockings."

Makoto tapped his chin with a finger, his eyes widening innocently, but he kept walking, dragging her along the hallway "I don't know if I can _do_ that," he began, but she interrupted him. Her breathing was fast, and her face was starting to resemble that of a deer caught in the headlights of a car. "I have two demerit points already, I can't get another or my parents will kill me – w-what do I have to do to convince you to drop it?" she babbled, the words spilling uncontrollably out of her mouth as she tugged pathetically at his sleeve and looked up at him beseechingly.

Makoto stopped. Turned to look at her. He smiled again, and this time Haru couldn't understand why Ayane wasn't spontaneously melting into the ground. "I didn't _quite_ catch what you were saying to Haru," he said, his voice perfectly amiable, "but I don't think it was very polite, was it? I think you owe him an apology, Ayane."

"S-Sorry," she stammered, stumbling through the words. "I'm sorry." Haru could hear the confused panic in her voice, the tears she was trying to push down, and he couldn't help but feel sorry for her, but at the same time he felt repulsed – repulsed at the pathetic figure grovelling before them, so far removed from the confident, arrogant figure she had been before. He nodded slightly, accepting the apology, and yanked on Makoto's arm. Makoto saw the unspoken plea in his eyes, and smiled. This time, it was soft, calm, mild, and Haru felt his heart jump.

"Thank you, Ayane," Makoto purred, and she let go of his sleeve as if she had been burnt. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"God, that was merciless – and actually kind of hot," Haru heard Ayane's friend say as he and Makoto were walking away, her voice awed and just a tad bewildered. "You think they're really fucking?"

Haru backed up against the cold concrete wall of the stairwell, his tongue in Makoto's mouth and his senses in a mess. He could hear the obscene _slick_ of their tongues sliding against each other, the frantic rustle of their hands at each other's clothes, the small moans of pleasure he was making as he felt Makoto grind up against him. He had never felt so thrilled, so _exhilarated_ before, but the adrenaline from the Ayane incident and the blood rushing through his veins was sending him on a reckless high to which he saw no end.

They broke apart finally to breathe. The two of them were breathing hard, their pants echoing loudly in the deserted space. They leaned against each other for support, Makoto resting his head against Haru's chest, Haru gripping his forearms tightly to remain standing.

"Haru," Makoto whispered, and Haru made a noncommittal sound of inquiry. The taller man raised his head to meet his eyes, and Haru bit his lip at the shine in his eyes – from tears, or joy, he knew not which. "It made me happy to see how Haru defended me," he said, his voice soft, but thrumming with emotion. Haru blushed – so he _had_ seen the exchange between them, the incident which had almost devolved into an altercation. He turned his head away to hide his flush, but a rough, calloused palm at his cheek forestalled the movement.

"Don't look away, Haru," Makoto murmured, his fingers almost-unconsciously tracing the blade of Haru's cheekbone. "It made me really happy to see you getting angry for my sake," he continued. "I – I didn't know you felt that strongly about me." Now it was his turn to blush, to turn away and rest his cheek against Haru's chest again. Haru looked down at the strong, muscled nape of his neck, saw the pink tinge to his ears, and his own lips curved ever so slightly. It was and always had been an adorable but comical sight, Makoto's large body bent almost double and relying on his own small frame for support.

"Don't be stupid," he muttered, remembering the words Makoto had uttered bare seconds before, remembering the anxious thrum which had run through them under the unrestrained happiness. "Of course – of course I'd defend you. You're important to me, after all." The last few words were trailed off, hesitant but unyielding.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, matching the sound of their breathing into the same pattern, the rise and fall of their chests synchronising, the beat of their hearts almost identical. Then Makoto lifted his head, and Haru was suddenly aware – _too_ aware – of the dark glint in Makoto's eyes, of the hungry bare of his teeth – aware that, in front of him, was now a predator.

"Get on your knees, Haru," he said, his voice soft, "and beg for it."

Haru knelt down, and obeyed.

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 **Reviews are love :) catch me on tumblr at kitcatkandy**


	7. Revelations

THE BEAST HAS BEEN CONQUERED AT LAST

seriously guys I have no more energy I'm just going to go die in a corner now, there is no smut here but lots of angst so beware (forgive any typos i'm sick and sleepy)

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"Haru, can I talk to you?"

Haru turned, his eyes meeting those of Rin's anxious red ones. They were filled with a strange fire which he had never seen before, a queer flicker of amber flames which somehow unsettled him. He took a step back, and his hand instinctually groped for that of Makoto's. But Makoto was in the pool, helping Nagisa with his kick, and Haru was in the locker room, and there was no escape.

"H-Haru," Rin's voice was nervous, tremulous, and there was a quiver at the end of his words. "I – I have something to tell you. I don't know if you'll want to hear it, or if you'll even care, but I - " He flung his hands in the air in exasperation, lips flapping open and close like a goldfish as he desperately tried to find the words to say.

"Gah!" he exclaimed, and the word was infused with anger. He spun around to face Haru straight on, and this time his mouth was set in a determined line. "I – I like you Haru, always have, it's just that we're going to be leaving high school soon and I don't know if we'll see each other for a while 'cause I'll be going to Australia to train for a couple of years and I don't want to leave without letting you know how deeply I felt about you so I wanted to tell you today. That I like you, I mean." His face was a mask of crimson, his cheeks ablaze with colour, and Haru felt his head spin.

Rin liked him?

But he had never guessed, had never known, would never have thought…

"I understand that you can't give me an answer now, it's just that…" Rin bit his lip, and Haru could see it draw blood. "I'd just like you to think about it." He looked up through his lashes, and Haru could see the indecision and anguish in his eyes. "Do you think I'm disgusting?" he stammered, clutching desperately at the sleeves of his jacket, pulling tightly on the seams. "Do you think it's gross that I… that I…"

Haru shook his head mutely. To call Rin disgusting would be hypocritical after all, since he himself was fucking his best friend.

"Rin…" he said, and his voice was soft, uncertain. "I don't think… I don't know what I feel for you."

"It's just that… when we swim together, I feel so _alive_ , you know?" Rin confessed, his voice a harsh, trembling whisper. "I've never felt that way before. I've never felt that way with anyone. I can't describe how exhilarating it is to swim with you. I've thought about it long and hard and… I don't know what else to call it, if not love." Here he reached out and caught Haru's arm; Haru flinched at the sharp pain of his grip. "You feel the same, don't you?" Rin pleaded, and the raw hope in his eyes made Haru wince again. "I know you feel the same excitement when we swim together. I'm the one who gives you a challenge, who gives you something to fight for, aren't I? You see that, don't you?"

Haru was speechless. It was true that swimming with Rin made him feel freer than he had ever been before, that simply arcing through the water with Rin by his side was a feeling he missed the moment he got out of the pool and stepped onto land. But there was another kind of exhilaration he loved, the kind of warmth that enveloped him as soon as he left his watery haven, and that was the warmth of Makoto's hand.

He shook his head blindly, confused by the thoughts rushing through his mind. "I – I don't know," he managed, his lips dry. "I'll think about it, Rin, I can't promise you anything better than that."

"That's all I need," Rin whispered, and his voice was cracked – he had to clear his throat and repeat the words to make them audible. "I'll – I'll wait for your answer." With that, and a last fleeting look towards Haru, he zipped up his jacket and left the locker room, the familiar sharp-toothed grin back on his face.

As soon as the door banged shut behind him, Haru slid to the floor, cupping his face in his hands. He thought of Rin, of the auburn hair which always swirled around his face like a corona of light; of the gleaming spark of mischief which had only recently been restored to his red eyes; of the slick curve of water that arced from his chin as he heaved himself from the water. He could not deny that Rin awoke something primeval in him, something restless and competitive and fierce, something that didn't appear without the threat of a red-haired shark hounding him desperately from behind, but at the same time it was a feeling he could do without. He had always considered Rin's influence in his life a troublesome bother, and although that had changed to feelings of mild tolerance and even friendship in the last few years, the faint itch and irritation he got under his skin whenever Rin slung an arm over his or ruffled his hair into a mess hadn't disappeared. He needed the water, but he didn't need Rin.

 _And he didn't need Rin like he needed Makoto._

"Rin confessed to me today," Haru said, dropping the words like a weighted stone into the silence between them. The comfortable atmosphere between them suddenly became cold, rigid, tense, and he saw Makoto lift his head from the textbook to face him.

There was no mistaking that hard, blank stare in Makoto's eyes, a look which disappeared the instant he connected with Haru's, but a look which had existed, even for a split second, and had provided a window to his true feelings. But this time Haru did not flinch, did not cower, and instead steadily held the innocent stare. Makoto cocked his head slightly to the side, a characteristic move, and smiled sweetly, although Haru could see the ice behind the saccharine.

"Confessed to you?" he asked, his voice soft. "He… said he liked you, Haru?" His fingers continued to press numbers into the calculator, slowly but surely, and that unnerved Haru somewhat, until he looked at the knuckles of Makoto's right hand and realised they were white.

"He did," Haru responded, softly, wanting to bite his lips and cover his head and run, but somehow finding the strength to stay still. Now there was an electric stillness in the air, a tension which made him realise that, whatever he said at this moment, in this second, would change things between them forever.

The fingers on the calculator stilled, and the only thing in Haru's vision now was those white knuckles, gripping tightly onto the edge of the table, leaving gouges on the teak wood. "And what did you say?" Makoto's voice was even softer, even tenderer, if that was possible, gentle and coaxing, as if to say "everything will be all right". Yet Haru could hear the thin line of strain beneath that façade, and suddenly all he wanted to do was to pry it apart and watch it break until it exposed _Makoto_ , the Makoto who was holding himself in and pushing him out and just _hurting_ somewhere deep inside.

And so now he weighed his options, in the split-second that yawned like a chasm between them. What words would pull forth the primitive beast in Makoto, what words would make the good loser in him turn tail and run, what words would make the 'normal' Makoto curl up and cry.

He opened his mouth to speak, but then a heavy pressure on his hand cut off his speech, and he looked down in surprise to see Makoto's hand on his. Suddenly he was aware of a very large, very real presence before him, of a cold smile that sent a shiver down his spine, of a soft gentle voice which made him tremble with fear and that all-too-familiar exhilaration.

"What did you say, Haru?" Makoto asked, tilting his head to the side in a movement that was almost grotesque. "You can tell me, you know. I won't mind. After all, we both know to whom your body belongs, don't we?" All of a sudden his eyes liquefied, melted into a warm puddle of green, and Haru felt himself unconsciously exhale. "You're mine, Haru, aren't you?"

Faced with this sudden attack, Haru shot to his feet, anger streaking across his face and colouring his cheeks an unnatural red. He watched as Makoto tumbled off the table, confusion and fear flashing through his features as he tried to process what had just happened.

"I'm not anyone's," Haru whispered, and his voice was hoarse. "I have to be free, Makoto, I thought you understood that more than anyone else." There was a thin film of tears across his eyes now, as he turned and stalked blindly for the door, and then he realised that there were arms around his waist, feverish words at his ears, and then he felt the weight of tears soaking through his shirt. _Makoto's_ tears.

"I'm sorry, Haru," he was crying, the words slurred and soft and hiccupping, and Haru flinched unconsciously at the pathetic childlike quality of the sobs, "If you left me – If you left me I wouldn't know what to do, I've always only wanted _you_ , _Haru_ , _please_ don't leave me, I didn't mean to _bind_ you to me or anything, I just didn't want you to go to _Rin_ , of all people, I know that's selfish of me – I've always only wanted what you wanted for yourself, but I've always wanted to have you too, and it's just – it's just – I don't know what I would do without you, Haru. You're my life, you're the reason I swim, Haru-chan, _I don't want you to leave me_ \- " At this break in the sentence he stopped to wipe his tears on his sleeve, but Haru whipped around and hugged him hesitantly to his chest. They made an almost comical sight, the stoic, smaller figure embracing the larger, heaving frame. Haru stood like that for a while, feeling the weight of Makoto's slowly calming sobs resting lightly on him, the gentle giant careful even now not to rest his entire weight on him.

"Makoto," he said, when he gauged that the tears had more or less stopped, "sit down." It wasn't an order, but it wasn't a request either. Makoto obediently plopped to his feet in front of the kotatsu and continued to wipe away his snot and tears with the back of his hand. He refused steadfastly to look at Haru, even as the latter tried to get his attention by proffering tissues or handkerchiefs or the like.

They stayed there in silence for a few moments, Haru letting Makoto catch his breath, Makoto repeatedly opening and closing his fists to calm himself down.

"Those girls were right," he said, at last, his voice muffled. "I _am_ pathetic." He accompanied this with a suppressed hiccup.

Haru shoved his chin up forcefully and looked into his wide, tearful eyes. "You are _not_ pathetic," he said quietly, fiercely, " _Makoto is strong_."

"How can you say that when I've been treating you so meanly the entire time, Haru!" Makoto cried out with a sudden bitterness, clenching his fists so hard Haru could see the bloody crescents in his palm reopening. "I've been really uncaring to you, Haru, I've practically been raping you this entire time - "

"There hasn't been once where we've done it without my consent, Makoto," Haru cut in. " _Listen to me_." He waited for Makoto's shoulders to stop heaving, and for his body to relax, before he continued. The words came tumbling out in a volley, unsure and hesitant, but still resolute. Now was the time for him to express his fears, his insecurities, and to cover up Makoto's own, and he was _not_ going to mess this chance up.

"I've been afraid of you, Makoto," he began, gripping on to the other's hand tightly as if he feared that he would run away, "I've been afraid because I didn't know what you were thinking. I was afraid because I saw a side of you that I'd never seen before. But it… it would be a lie to say that I didn't enjoy it, because I did. I… I like you, Makoto, I like all your different sides and neuroses and insecurities because those're what make you, _you_." Haru saw the large bell-shaped tears starting to spill out of Makoto's green eyes, the dark haze that fell away at last to reveal the very vulnerable, very weak child inside. He hesitated, wondering if he should say more – already, the words were fluttering around inside his mouth and mixing up his thoughts – "You can tell me what you feel, Makoto, tell me everything you want and everything you've felt. I was honest with you, Makoto, now you have to be honest with me."

Makoto lifted his other hand and tried futilely to stem the flow of tears from his eyes. His voice was a little more high-pitched than usual, choked by the clog in his throat, but he managed to continue speaking. "I don't know what's been wrong with me," he whispered, softly, "I've never felt like this before, Haru, I swear I never thought of you this way before, until – until last year, at the relay. When I realised how precious Rin was to you. Then I realised that you didn't need me the way you needed Rin, that one day you and Rin would stand on the same stage and there wouldn't be a space for me next to either of you. It… It _scared_ me, Haru, knowing that there was a future for you without me, and I was afraid – afraid that you'd forget me if I didn't try to stay with you at all costs." The incessant flow of words from his mouth was jumbled, hurried, forced, and yet it rang with a curious earnest sincerity which left Haru's heart thudding. He stopped, there, and looked up hesitantly at Haru through his tear-coated lashes, as if afraid that he'd said too much.

Haru smiled, gently, as big a smile as he could (although it was little more than a slight upturn of the lips), and Makoto's face lit up, reflecting that smile with an uncertain one of his own.

"I need you more than I need Rin, Makoto," he said, stoically, and leaned forward to kiss Makoto on the mouth. They met softly, and he could feel the soft persistent hiccup in Makoto's throat. This time, they went slowly, with Makoto preparing him gently with the lube he kept under his bed, and with plenty of foreplay and kissing and stroking, but this time Haru didn't try to hide his screams of pleasure as Makoto thrust roughly into him, didn't try to stop himself from digging his nails into Makoto's broad back as they came together. As they lay there on the bed, satiated and gasping and clasping hands, Haru leaned over to give Makoto another peck on the lips.

"You can be a little jealous if you let me be a little jealous sometimes too," he said, and they smiled.

"Haruka-senpai!"

Haru turned questioningly, to face a small brunette girl with her hair in pigtails and a box of chocolates in hand. She was a blushing, stammering mess, her green eyes darting frantically about and her fingers pulling desperately at her skirt as if she would rather have been anywhere but _there_ , in that corridor, giving chocolates to a senpai.

Haru looked at the chocolates in her hand, back up at her face, and took them with a non-committal tilt of the head. "Are these for me, or for Makoto," he said, the words more of a statement than a question, with his deadpan intonation. She chanced a quick glance at his face, then darted her eyes away, the blush on her cheeks even more profuse than before.

"F-F-For you," she stammered, one hand picking and unpicking at her hem. Haru glanced distastefully at the pale pink manicure on her hand, the nail polish quickly becoming scratched off and ugly with the way in which she was abusing her nails, but he hid his repulsion and smiled slightly in acknowledgement. There was a small spiteful satisfaction in his chest as he walked off towards the classroom, where Makoto was waiting for him.

"I got these from a girl," Haru said, the moment he sat down next to Makoto, and he watched the smile on the other's face ossify. He took a piece of the chocolate, and offered a particularly repellently-shaped one to the other.

"Is that so?" Makoto said, as he took the offering, and his eyes crinkled dangerously, in a way that Haru knew signalled heated, animalistic sex later in the day, when Makoto would press him against the wall and take him like a beast. Sometimes when he wanted it slow and loving he would take care to keep Makoto in a good mood all day, so that when they returned home Makoto would make love to him slow and easy. But other times…

God, this was all kinds of fucked up, he knew, but if he'd wanted normal he would have picked Rin, and he wanted _Makoto_.

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wow makoto sure was whiny here i'm sorry

side note: i love rin and ship him always with sousuke so no worries he will get a sequel if i have time

reviews are love :3 but seriously my hands are cramped cos i banged this out in literally one hour ok. find me on tumblr at kitcatkandy 3


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